


Disgusting

by Schediaphilia



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Anxiety, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Guilt, Implied OCD, M/M, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-16
Updated: 2016-04-16
Packaged: 2018-06-02 12:14:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6565675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Schediaphilia/pseuds/Schediaphilia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rick was finding it harder and harder to drown out his own thoughts lately. He knew, deep down, if his mental health kept like this much longer he was heading towards a massive breakdown.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Disgusting

“Wha-what are you up to?”

Rick rubbed a hand through his hair in exasperation.

“D-does it matter, Morty?”

“W-well, yeah? I mean yo-you’re working on it so-”

Rick’s hand found its way from his hair, rubbing his forehead as he slumped, leaning on his elbow on his workbench.

Rick was stressed. That was normal, to an extent. The days passed by slowly, with no end of the mundane in sight. Rick was finding it harder and harder to drown out his own thoughts lately. He knew, deep down, if his mental health kept like this much longer he was heading towards a massive breakdown. The only solutions he could think of he knew damn well had just as much of a chance of making it worse. He was getting to the point where he could barely think past his psyche’s constant bullshit.

“Rick are y-you all right?”

Rick froze, the question running over him like cold water. He considered saying ‘no’, but then he’d ask “what’s wrong.” And no one was ever satisfied with, “I’m a bad person,” and people got weird when you explained the hundreds of reasons why you were a bad person. For a moment, a part of him screamed out to tell him, a small part of him hoping to be able to be understood.

“Y-yeah. Fine.”

Morty was besides him now.

“Uhm…” Rick looked at him, watched Morty rub the back of his head.

“Y-you sure? You… you seem a little different, y’know?”

Rick noticed his hand was clasped in the other, noticed he was squeezing too tight to look casual, noticed his nails were digging at his palms. He forced himself to relax.

“Nope. No-no- I’m just- same old Rick,” he found himself muttering, unable to stop nails from scraping down the top of his hand.

“W-well, it’s just- normally you’d call me a name or something- or like, at least yell at me to leave you alone. Y-you’re really quiet,” Morty sounded a bit bitter about the content but he looked concerned regardless.

Rick breathed in, _You’re disgusting_ , his psyche reminded him, he agreed. Don’t fight it- just agree and it’ll calm down. Rick didn’t want to admit it, but he was more than a little emotionally fragile at the moment. He wanted Morty to stop asking him questions, so he could be alone. At the same time, he didn’t want to be alone. God, alone with himself- but he knew he couldn’t handle it if Morty became upset with him. Not now. He didn’t need another reason to tear himself up.

“Don’t worry about me, Morty,” Rick found himself mumbling, non-combative for once.

Morty lingered for a bit. Finally he relented with a soft, “Okay,” and left the garage. Rick sighed out, nails raking hard against his own skin. As soon as the door closed he slammed his hand down as hard as he could against the bench. The pain emanated through his hand, momentarily shocking him, but it wasn’t enough- barely even hurt, so he slammed it again on the edge of the desk, relishing in the spasm of pain as his knuckles were momentarily crushed.

It was no secret Rick had a bit of osteoarthritis, but his hands were easiest and most vulnerable target. He held the injured hand, breathing in hard, fingers twitching. He hoped that had satisfied the urge. Nothing had really ever worked for him but the real deal. None of that rubber band bullshit. It was either tearing and beating himself to pieces or nothing. Not that he hadn’t tried, hadn’t tried drawing red lines, hadn’t tried holding ice cubes. His body shook, skin aching for more, brain reeling in a miasma of who-the-fuck-knows.

Rick couldn’t pick out what had triggered this, and it didn’t matter as he slammed his wrist against his desk, grunting from the euphoria running juxtaposed to searing pain. He closed his eyes, enjoying the feel speed through him, making his lips tingle, his skin tremble for more.

He preferred hitting. Pulling. Tearing. He wanted to ache and have no one notice. It’d been awhile since he’d last done anything, though. He’d been doing well at self-harming in a more chemical approach, rather than tugging out chunks of hair or slamming his head into a wall. His heart was beating faster, he felt like his skin was too tight. He had the urge to dig it off, dive into his body and pull himself apart.

“Rick?”

Rick’s eyes opened, too far ensnared in his own mind to care as Morty bent over him. When had he come back?

Morty stared. Rick breathed in hard, realizing his head was laying on his bench, hands curled hard into his own arms, pushed up sweater sleeves revealing red streaks that’d fade in minutes. Rick could only watch as Morty carefully reached towards him and took his hands carefully, guiding them away from himself.

Morty said nothing, only squeezing his hands as he read his expression. 

“I must’ve got that from y-you, huh?” Morty laughed to himself, Rick’s heart crossed between feeling comforted and feeling like it was dying.

Morty ran his thumbs over the backs of Rick’s hands, pulling him up to sit up. Morty squeezed reassuringly, bringing a hand up to his face, rubbing Rick’s palm against his face.

“What are you-”

“It-it’s easier to stop if you’re distracted,” Morty cut him off, his mouth dangerously close to Rick’s wrist.

Rick had found the earlier stimuli comforting, though confusing, but he didn’t know what to think as Morty laid a small kiss to Rick’s wrist, one of his hands being dropped as both of Morty’s moved up to hold his hand in his grasp, massaging softly. It kind of tickled. It was… nice.

Rick found himself relaxing despite his mind’s raging, softening into Morty’s touch. Morty gently turned his hand, presenting the top to himself and ran his lips gently in one line across his bent knuckles. Rick shivered at that, his free hand finding itself wrapped in the bottom of Morty’s yellow t-shirt as Morty placed gently kisses on his fingers.

It was weird. He knew it was, but it felt nice and he craved anything to distract himself from himself. In a way, he felt reassured in a strange way. It was strange, but Morty was trying to help. He didn’t just fuck off- he actually cared enough to check. He cared enough to try and help him. Rick found his eyes closing, body slumping against the back of his chair.

Morty pulled his hand down and he followed, opening his eyes a bit to notice the reason why. Morty was kneeling on the hard cement of the garage in front of him. Rick held back a cringe at the empathy pain that phantomed through his own knees. He could almost feel the degrading cartilage rubbing unpleasantly himself.

“Morty what are-”

Morty looked up at him, and Rick found himself unable to finish the question. Did it matter what he was doing? Morty was place inside his open legs, leaning his head on Rick’s inner thigh, hands rubbing up and down Rick’s upper legs. Rick sighed into the touch, enjoying Morty’s touch, how it seems to be sapping up the stress that he’d been building up.

Morty really was a damn good kid, he’d have to tell him that more often. Rick made a soft groan at Morty’s hands on his ankles, swollen and sore for good reason. If Rick’s heart wasn’t beating so fast, body threatening to teeter back into panic at any moment, he would’ve pushed the kid away ages ago. But as it was, he was doing everything he could not to pull him close to him, hold him tight to make sure he didn’t leave because _God_ he didn’t want to be alone. He ran his fingers through Morty’s hair, softly squeezing, hoping his actions spoke the words he couldn’t speak: Don’t leave me.

Soft hands ran up his legs, stopping to rub his knees for a bit before progressing inward. Rick looked down at Morty, Morty’s eyes half lidded with a question in his mouth. But he didn’t say anything as his hands ran along his grandfather, gently scratching the surface of Rick’s belt.

Rick gripped Morty’s hair when his hands tried to get at his belt buckle, pulling him back firmly.

Morty’s brows furrowed, mouth opening as if he was going to argue, but instead his eyes only narrowed before closing his mouth.

“Don’t ruin it,” was all Rick managed as Morty pulled his hands away, opting instead to lay his head in his lap again.

“Y-yeah… okay,” Morty mumbled, fingers running circles on Rick’s upper leg. Morty’s face was unreadable, but he didn’t seem mad. Morty’s eyes ran up to his, their gaze meeting. Morty grabbed the work desk, pulling himself up.

Rick watched, unsure, as Morty leant in for a hug. Rick got the urge to throw him off after what he had just tried to initiate, but couldn’t find the willpower to. Slowly, his arms wrapped around the boy, squeezing tight. Morty released his arms and Rick followed, albeit reluctantly.

“Feeling better?” Morty asked.

Rick breathed in, examining his own mental state. Rick reached out carefully, gripping Morty’s hand.

“Yeah.” Rick lied.

Morty smiled and looked down at Rick’s hand on his own, then back at his face.

“I guess I’ll.. go do homework- or-or something.” Morty awkward pulled away.

“Okay,” Rick answered, watching him depart.

Morty stopped before the door. He looked over his shoulder at Rick and smiled, looking melancholy. It felt like ages before he finally left.

Rick breathed in hard, closing his eyes, hand running through his hair, gripping uncomfortably tight. He was disgusting.

 


End file.
